


Just Another Day in Paradise

by yourdykeinshiningarmor



Series: What is Normal, Anyway? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John has to be the adult, M/M, Makeup Sex, Parentlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock forgetting things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourdykeinshiningarmor/pseuds/yourdykeinshiningarmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John do their best to balance the kids, the Work, and each other. Some days it's harder than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day in Paradise

John felt like he was rocking in a warm sea, gently moving from side to side with the motion of the waves, gulls calling to one another in the distance. He gradually realized his ocean was actually the bed; the rolling motion and birds calls caused by a pair of unruly twins attempting (successfully) to wake their dad by bouncing on either side of him and repeatedly calling out every invocation of father they knew, including languages other than English.

John wasn’t surprised that the other side of the bed was empty; Sherlock still rarely slept through the night, especially when there was a case on. Although, he had taken to spending a couple hours snuggled up to John each night “rebooting”. He let out a grumble.

“Abigail and Preston,” John called out and the twins stopped. “You’ve won. And if you were attempting to recreate the high seas, it was your Papa that wanted to be the pirate, not me.”

The twins let out a small giggle before rushing off the bed, screaming in their excitement.

John laughed as he rolled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes and gingerly standing up as his feet readjusted to use after the night. He padded down the hallway and saw the twins happily entertained in the corner of the sitting room playing “experments.”

“You lot ok for a few more minutes?” John asked. “Dad’s gonna hop in the shower.”

“Yes, dad,” Abby and Preston replied in unison, not bothering to look up.

John shook his head and walked back to the loo. He left the door open as he turned the water on and stripped, testing the water before he stepped under the spray; privacy was tenuous at best when it was just Sherlock, and, with toddlers, it had been non-existent. He knew that soon he would have to start caring again, but for the time being, hearing the activities in the sitting room was far more important than privacy.

The twins had just turned five last Christmas and he was still blown away at their intelligence and ability to appropriately care for themselves for short periods of time. Likely, they had been up for a good hour or more before finally waking him (they had done away with gates after they had caught both of the repeatedly scaling them like monkeys). He and Sherlock had had quite a steep learning curve after the twins were born adding them into the balancing act that was life, the Work, and each other. John had all but quit working at the surgery but still filled in every now and then (like today) when they desperately needed a shift covered. Sherlock was also forced to learn to get on without John at every crime scene (although the twins had already seen their fair share of crime and action in their short lives, much to John's dismay), but the twins at home had put a significant damper on their reckless behavior.

John stepped back out in the hallway, toweling his hair dry, and took another peek on the twins. He stopped when he saw a look of despair on Abby’s face. “Everything ok, angel?”

She paused for a moment, obviously thinking about the words she wanted to use. “I’m hungry, Daddy, but…” she trailed off and lifted a finger towards the kitchen.

John’s brow furrowed as he turned towards the kitchen door. It took a quick glance in to ignite his temper, not at poor Abby ( _thank god_ his children were intelligent) but as his slightly-infuriating-and-sometimes-dense partner. John moved into the kitchen where a Bunsen burner was still lit and gently boiling a large flask of some opaque fluid. He knew Sherlock was working a case right now, and this experiment was likely related to it, but he was sorely tempted to turn off the burner and experiment be damned. Instead he took a deep breath, like a responsible adult, and went to grab his mobile.

As the other line rang, he walked over and grabbed a banana for Abby and an apple for her brother. The line finally picked up as he handed her the fruit.

“ _John_ ,” a baritone greeted him through the earpiece. “ _Is everything alright_?” Actual phone calls were rare enough between them that a touch of concern was still common when they weren’t expecting a call from the other.

“Oh, yes, we are all quite alright, especially my very smart children,” John replied. “Tell me, though, is there a reason that I shouldn’t immediately bin the _boiling_ experiment you left on the table… while I was still asleep… when you _know_ the twins get up early?”

John waited, the silence heavy even through the phone. He could practically hear Sherlock thinking of something to use as an excuse.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” came the final reply. “ _Please, don’t bin it_.”

John could hear the sincerity in the detective’s voice. One thing that John knew would always trigger honestly and forthrightness in the prat was their children. His chin dropped to his chest.

 “Ok, I won’t, but next time, there will be no courtesy call. I know you get excited, love, but we’ve more important priorities now.”

He heard Sherlock swallow at the reminder. “ _Yes, John_.” Sherlock sounded far too grave for such a simple reply.

John huffed a laugh. “I don’t want to know what’s in that flask, do I?”

“ _No_.”

John shook his head. The reply was definitely much too quick for his liking. “Do I need to worry about anything with it?”

“ _Noooo…_ ” The word was drawn out as Sherlock thought about timing and the possible results of the experiment.

“Sherlock?”

“ _What color is the solution?_ ” he finally asked.

“Opaque white.”

“ _Hmmm… oh…_ ”

John heard Sherlock turn away from the phone and mutter something to whomever he was with.

“ _You can turn the burner off, John. I’ll dispose of it later._ ”

“Ok.” John reached over and turned the handle to off position and watched the flame sputter out. “Don’t forget, I need you back by noon. My shift starts at 1.”

“ _Yes, of course. Must run!”_

Before he could reply, John heard the call end. He shook his head as he walked back into the sitting room.

“Is Papa in trouble, Daddy?” Preston asked from where he was now arranging (accurately) the periodic table blocks Molly had bought them for Christmas.

John sighed. “No, Preston, he’s not.”

Preston gave his best impression of a Holmes eye roll. “Are you suuuurrrrre, Daddy?”

John laughed, “Yes, I’m sure. Sometimes Papa just a needs a few reminders.”

Preston gave a brief, thoughtful nod of his head, before stating, “Oviously.”

John laughed again as he turned back towards the bedroom to finish getting dressed.

\-------------

John looked at the clock, getting more anxious as each minute ticked by. It was already 12:30 and, while it would only take 15 minutes to get to work, he somehow doubted that Sherlock was going to show up in time.

John hit the dial button for the seventh time, listened to it ring, and finally disconnected the call when it went to voicemail. John turned back towards the front room only to see the twins standing by the door, coats on and backpacks in hand.

Abby smiled. “We’re ready, Daddy.”

“We checked and Gramma Hudson is gone,” Preston explained.

John closed his eyes and counted to ten. It wasn’t like his children were difficult at work (in fact everyone there adored them and loved seeing them), it was just that he worked so little anymore that it was hardly taxing on Sherlock to be back in time. Then again, Sherlock was likely taking a murder off the streets of London, someone who could, in theory, harm their children. _Priorities_. They would most definitely be having a discussion about this later.

“Alright, munchkins,” he gestured towards the door as he grabbed his coat, “let’s go.” John quickly sent off a text telling Sherlock where they were.

\-------------

John had just finished clearing away the takeaway he had grabbed on his lunch for him and twins when the break room door opened. Sherlock had slinked in and was leaned against the door, unwilling to meet John’s pointed glare.

After a full minute of silence, John looked down at their children. “You lot ready? Papa is here to take you home.”

“Yes, Daddy,” they chimed in unison, each wordless cleaning up their places and putting away the activities they’d brought.

John took pity and walked over to the detective, placeing a gentle hand on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock finally met John’s eyes. “It’s ok, love.” The doctor leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on the detective’s lips. “I know it wasn’t on purpose, but we _will_ be talking about this later.”

Sherlock nodded and, satisfied that he wasn’t going to be relegated to the couch, gave a small eye roll.

John shook his head and laughed (he sure seemed to be doing that a lot lately). “Alright, you all behave yourselves,” he looked pointedly at Sherlock, “and I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Yes, Daddy,” they all (including Sherlock) replied in unison, as Sherlock opened the door to let the twins out.

Sherlock leaned back for another quick kiss, a smile dancing on his lips. “See you tonight, John.”

\-------------

John hauled his body up the seventeen steps to the door of 221B. The second half of his shift hadn’t gone nearly as well as the first; several patients had been sicker than they realized, including one that ended up being transferred directly over to Bart’s. Two hours late, he was finally stepping through the front door.

The exhausted doctor hung up his coat and turned to see where everyone was. He sincerely hoped the kids weren’t still up, as it was nearly midnight, but the flat was quiet and lit only by the streetlamps outside. A soft glow filtered down the hall from the bedroom and drew John like a moth to the flame.

He crossed the threshold and spied Sherlock leaning against the headboard. He tapped madly away at his laptop, no doubt getting down all the details of the case, and John smiled when the detective turned to face him.

“John,” he said, voice full of warmth. The brunette rarely used terms of endearment or expressed, in words, his feelings of sentiment. But, to someone familiar with the nuances of Sherlock’s voice, the inflection present, even as ordinary words rolled off his tongue, said more about how the detective felt than any number of actual words.

“’ello, love,” John replied, exhaustion seeping into the words. John toed off his shoes and crawled onto the bed, curling up with his head in Sherlock’s lap.

Sherlock chuckled as he set his laptop on the side table and began carding his fingers through John's short hair. He felt, more than heard, the sigh that left the doctor as he relaxed.

“I apologize about earlier today,” Sherlock began, remorse thick on the words. “I became engrossed with the case and let my better judgment get away from me.”

John twisted his torso and glanced up at beautiful man above him. He still didn’t know what he had done to catch the flighty detective but was always glad he had, even on the frustrating days like today. He felt a familiar heat pool in pelvis as he stared into the piercing steel blue eyes.

“The kids are in bed and asleep?” John asked.

Sherlock quirked his head. “Yes. Two hours ago.”

John, feeling a sudden rush of energy, rolled over and planted his knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips. He flashed the detective a cheeky grin. “Then I suppose you can find a way to make it up to me.”

Sherlock returned the smile and leaned in to capture John’s mouth with his own. He moaned as the blonde’s tongue grazed his bottom lip and thrust itself into his mouth. The nimble muscles danced back and forth, twisting around each other and darting from mouth to mouth.

John kissed his way down Sherlock’s jaw and onto his neck, grazing his teeth over the detective’s pulse point. The doctor felt the brunette give an involuntary shudder below him at the sensation and grinned as he continued to kiss and nibble at the pale skin.

Sherlock ran his hands up John’s arms and made quick work of the buttons on the blonde man’s shirt. His hands glided over the tanned chest and up to John’s shoulders, pushing the shirt off as he trailed back down the doctor’s arms.

John gasped at the skin-on-skin contact and ground his hips into Sherlock, feeling the taller man’s erection pressing into his own through the two layers of trousers.

“There is far too much fabric between us,” John commented as he began to grind a bit more rhythmically into Sherlock, smiling at the groan that passed the detective’s lips. John leaned back, hissing at the loss of contact, and hastily began undoing the flies of his trousers while Sherlock worked on his own. John rolled onto the bed next to the brunette and, after tugging his pants and trousers off in one go, tossed them over the edge of the bed. Before he could get back up, Sherlock descended upon him and lined up their cocks.

At the first press of silky skin to silky skin, the pair gasped. Sherlock leaned down and sandwiched their lengths between hot bodies and let passion take over as they started to rut into each other. It wasn’t long before both men were panting and thrusting wildly with desire. Distantly, some small part of John’s brain made the connection that their frantic post-case sex had trained them well for we-want-to-get-off-but-the-kids-are-sleeping sex. He’s sure the thought would consciously return to him later, but, currently, he was much more suitably engaged.

John heard the soft click of the lube bottle and hardly had time to gasp at the loss of Sherlock’s body against his before long, dexterous fingers grasped them both and began to rub up and down their lengths. Every few strokes, Sherlock would swipe his thumb over their slits, spreading the leaking pre-come.

“God, Sherlock… don’t stop… for the love… of all things holy…” John wasn’t far now, he felt his muscles beginning to tense, the glowing warmth spreading through his body from his toes up.

Sherlock leaned down close to John, teeth grazing over the doctor’s ear. “Come for me, John.”

The sound of Sherlock’s deep baritone tipped John over the edge and he painted his chest with ribbons of come. The detective followed the doctor, unable to resist the visual of his husband coming completely undone beneath him. He continued to stroke them until John was a quivering mess, bordering on oversensitive. Sherlock released their softening cocks and flopped down beside the doctor.

They both ignored the cooling semen between them in favor of a few minutes in post-coital cuddling. Finally, when Sherlock couldn’t ignore it any longer, he rotated off the bed, padded softly to the loo, and wet down a flannel. After a cursory clean-up, Sherlock came back and wiped John down. Sherlock flung the used flannel in the general direction of the hamper before tossing John his pajama bottoms.

“I think we are going to get a visitor,” Sherlock said by way of explaination.

John gave him a puzzled look as he tugged on the bottoms. Shortly thereafter, a soft knock on the door alerted him to what Sherlock meant.

“Daddy? Papa?” The knob turned and Preston cracked open the door, his woobie clutched tightly to his chest. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

John turned on the lamp and waved him in. “Of course. Everything ok, sweets?” John was suddenly glad that Preston was still too young to pick up on the flushed color of his and Sherlock’s cheeks.

Preston ran and jumped on the bed, burying his face into John's neck and mumbling some indistinguishable words.

John hugged his son close. “What was that?”

“He had a nightmare.” Abby supplied from where she now stood in the doorway, sleepy and a bit uncertain.

“You can come, too, Abby,” Sherlock said as he emerged from the loo and sat down on the bed. He smiled as she launched herself on the bed and crawled between her parents.

John twisted his head a bit towards his son’s face. “Did you now? Well, now that Daddy and Papa are here you’ll be ok… no more nightmares.”John smiled when Preston looked up him, his face still full of innocence and trust in his parents. The doctor peeled the boy off and settled him between them, next to his sister, before turning off the lamp and lying down himself.

John turned on his side, snaking his arm over top the twins until his fingers entwined themselves in Sherlock’s curls. In the dull light from the streetlamps, their eyes met over their already dozing offspring and they shared a soft smile. Life for the Watson-Holmes clan was never boring, and rarely easy, but it was perfect nevertheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think with kudos, comments, or constructive criticism. Also, if there are any errors (spelling, grammar, etc) please tell me!
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](http://yourdykeinshiningarmor.tumblr.com/).


End file.
